


Trumpets in Jericho

by Laylah



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Loyalty, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: Baragona, recovering, after the Wall comes down, with someone dear keeping vigil.
Relationships: Baragona/Halvarda (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	Trumpets in Jericho

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Welsper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welsper/gifts).



Baragona comes back to consciousness slowly, swimming up out of the depths of exhaustion and injury. He's somewhere comfortable, stripped of his armor, lying on his back. He remembers the Grandcypher crew and their friends carrying him with them as they fled the collapsing Great Wall, and at some point in that process he must have lost consciousness from his injuries. He blinks until his vision clears. The ceiling above him is plain plaster crossed with thick beams, warmed with a blossom of yellow light from a lantern. He turns his head.

Hal is slumped beside the bed, his cloak discarded, his arms crossed on the mattress and his head pillowed on them. He breathes with the slow, even cadence of sleep; he, too, must have been exhausted from the chaos of the day.

"That can't be comfortable," Baragona murmurs.

Hal doesn't stir.

Baragona sits up slowly, all too aware of the deep muscle aches throughout his body that worsen when he moves. Someone clearly put a lot of work into healing him after the battle; all that remains is the soreness of his body trying to grow accustomed to the newly mended flesh.

He puts a hand on Hal's shoulder and gods but the boy is thin—Silverwind never had much, for all that Baragona provided what he could. That can change now. Hal can have the freedom he always deserved.

"Hal. Are you awake?"

"Mmnn," Hal says, but doesn't move. He must have been so worn out.

"You'll wake up sore if you sleep like that all night." Still no response.

Baragona sighs softly. He reaches down, gets his hands under Hal's arms, and lifts the boy up to lay him out on the bed. Hal curls in on himself almost immediately, still more than half asleep—even after all he's been through recently, he's still comfortable enough, trusting enough, not to be alerted by Baragona touching him.

Baragona drapes the blanket over him and lies back down himself, shifting over as close to the wall as he can so he won't crowd Hal. More sleep does sound like a good idea. That kid's crew pushed him harder than anyone he's fought in years.

The next time Baragona wakes up, there's warmth pressed along his right side, and the lantern has burned lower so the room is only dimly lit. He looks over to find Hal molded against his side, fingers curled in his shirt, face smushed up against his shoulder. Warmth blossoms in his chest; he'd thought it might be time to rise, but apparently not.

He shifts slightly to get more comfortable; Hal stirs, making an unbearably sweet sleepy noise. A moment later he stiffens, then pulls back sharply as if alarmed. "I'm sorry!" he says, almost frantic. "I didn't mean to—how did I—"

"It's fine," Baragona rumbles. "You fell asleep sitting on the floor. I thought you'd be more comfortable up here."

"Oh." Hal doesn't close the distance between them again, but he looks less dismayed and more hopeful. "Thank you."

"I'm surprised you wanted to stay with me," Baragona admits. "After learning the whole truth of what I've done. To you. To our clan."

Hal looks hurt, but he shakes his head. "You didn't want to, did you? And you tried to protect me however you could." He chews his lip. "Gilbert wanted to hurt people. He liked it. I've never seen you act like you liked it."

Baragona's heart _hurts_ with relief he thought he'd never earn, much less have simply offered to him. "Thank you, Halvarda," he says. He has to close his eyes for a moment, unable to look at Hal. "You have a kind heart."

Hal puts a hand on his shoulder, ever so lightly. "I mean it. I... I want you to be all right."

"I'm better now than I have been in a long time." He puts his hand over Hal's, to keep him there, to solidify the connection between them.

Hal lays his other hand on top of Baragona's. Baragona has to look over; Hal is watching his face, as if searching for some answer in his expression. He doesn't know what the appropriate reaction is. He's been nothing but a Luminary Knight for years—he has colleagues, not friends, and he's allowed himself no family or lovers. He left Hal in the care of the few loyalists he could smuggle to Silverwind and has tried to keep his distance for the boy's safety. All of that is obsolete now, and it leaves him adrift.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "I'd like to rest a little longer, if we have time. You're welcome to lie back down if you'd like."

Hal scoots closer, but still looks unsure how close is acceptable. Baragona lifts his arm, making room for Hal to tuck in against his side—and Hal does, warm, slight but solid as he lays his head carefully against Baragona's shoulder. Baragona drapes that arm around him, holding him close, heart suddenly pounding. How long has it been since anyone got this close? Has it really been since Torhid stood?

"You're warm," Hal says softly. He rests his hand on Baragona's chest, slow and gentle.

"So are you," Baragona points out. He rubs Hal's back, as if he could offer more of his warmth to that slight, hungry body. Gods, he could spend the rest of his life giving Hal the things he's been deprived of and it wouldn't be enough.

"I want—" Hal cuts himself off as if he's afraid he'll say something wrong.

"Anything," Baragona says. "If it's in my power, you'll have it."

Hal just reaches further across his body—and is still small enough that his arms barely reach to Baragona's other side—to hold tighter, to pull them as close as he can. His shoulders are shaking.

Baragona tugs Hal up onto his chest and wraps both arms around him, holding him close and trying to breathe through the storm of feelings he can't sort out. Hal is clinging to his shirt and it's so comforting to have him here, to _know_ he's safe now. He slides one hand up the back of Hal's neck and into the softness of his hair, rubbing at the base of one horn. They'll be tender at Hal's age, starting the growth spurt that will lead to their adult shape—

And Hal moans at the touch, leaning into Baragona's hand, his cheeks flushing pink. "Please," he breathes. "That feels good. Please, more."

"Anything for you," Baragona says hoarsely. He threads his other hand into Hal's hair too, rubbing the bases of both horns, massaging his scalp and feeling him just melt under the touch. It feels so good to hold him, to touch someone for the simple pleasure of it—to not be striving against someone but letting him close. "Halvarda," he says, but doesn't know what should follow.

Hal looks up and smiles at him dreamily. "Hi," he says. He reaches up to touch Baragona's face, tracing the line of his brow and smoothing away the worry there, cupping his cheek, hand so soft and free of the calluses of battle. Baragona turns toward the touch and kisses Hal's palm, and he can hear Hal's breath hitch.

A moment later Hal shifts, his weight moving up—Baragona looks back to see what he's doing and is just in time to meet Hal's mouth as Hal stretches up to kiss him. They both freeze, for a moment uncertain, but hesitation leads to loss and Baragona couldn't bear a loss here. He kisses back, clumsy and out of practice, but Hal doesn't seem to notice or mind his lack of skill. They hold each other close, learning from each other, and Baragona feels like a weight has been lifted off his heart after long years. The Great Wall has fallen, and finally, he can reach out.


End file.
